


Morning Comes

by testosterone_tea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Divorced John, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Sherlock's scars, no drunk sex, no rosie, not series 4 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/testosterone_tea/pseuds/testosterone_tea
Summary: The boys get a bit drunk, and John notices The Scars. Drunken kisses turn into something the next morning. Non season 4 compliant.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, I think I can say that I'm officially back. I'm working on one of my WIPs as we speak, so you can expect an update on that as well soon. I decided to finish and post before Sunday, because I wanted to finish this before the next episode came out. Looking forward to it!

Sherlock was drunk.

It had happened once or twice after John's stag party. The one that chiefly stood out in his mind was the night that John's divorce was finalized. John had insisted that Sherlock drink, too, and Sherlock, not wanting to reject this invitation of solidarity, had gotten completely plastered. He was still embarrassingly incapable of holding his drink, but at least he hadn't thrown up this time.

This time, it was because they had just solved a case. John had gotten to tackle a fleeing suspect and was very pleased with himself. It had been Sherlock who suggested that they grab a drink, and one drink had turned into seven.

Everything was getting a bit blurry, and John firmly insisted that they get a cab back to Baker Street. Sherlock stumbled after him and tumbled into the backseat of a cab, one that John had managed to acquire for once. He fell a bit too far and leaned into John accidentally. He smelled like cigarette smoke and pub food, bar smells. Sherlock knocked his head lightly against John's and sighed.

"You berk," John said, pulling Sherlock against him in a one-armed hug.

Sherlock's heart leapt, expecting that at any moment John would let go, but he didn't. They had been dancing around this for ages, ever since Mary had left. It had never gone farther than touches that could be construed as friendly, however.

Sherlock took his chance and nuzzled his head into John's neck. John's hand left his shoulder and slid into his hair, stroking gently. Sherlock made a sound remarkably like a purr and pushed up into John's hand. His scalp tingled.

Baker Street arrived far too soon, and Sherlock reluctantly pulled himself away from John and struggled out of the cab. 

The stairs swam as Sherlock climbed them, and he felt stiflingly hot. For some reason, it made perfect sense to drop his coat on the stairs, and to start unbuttoning his shirt before they'd even got into their flat. 

"Damn," Sherlock muttered, because he'd forgotten to undo his cuff buttons.

As he let go of his shirt to undo his cuff buttons, the shirt slipped down over his shoulders, revealing his back. He forgot why he never took his shirt off around John.

"Sherlock?" John asked, stumbling to a halt behind him. "What're these?"

One finger slid down his back, tracing a scar.

"Nothing," Sherlock slurred, trying to cover up again ineffectually.

"No, no, no, lemme see," John insisted.

The two of them struggled against one another until John succeeded in pulling the shirt aside again. 

"Oh, Sherlock," John said. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said again, his tongue feeling numb.

"Come on, come on, I need to see," John said.

Sherlock tried to protest, but John pulled him along up to his room, turning on the light and tugged him over to John's bed. He pushed Sherlock down gently but firmly and then carefully finished undoing his buttons.

"Oh, Sherlock," John repeated. "There're so many."

"It's okay," Sherlock said, trying to figure out how exactly he'd ended up here. "I'm okay."

He was utterly shocked when John's lips touched his shoulder where one scar wrapped up and around. Sherlock shuddered, and John stopped.

"Issit okay?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded, words robbed from his head, for once.

John kissed his shoulder again, and down, pressing down his back, criss-crossing his spine. Sherlock waited in confusion for John to explain what was happening, because this was the last thing he'd expected.

"Sorry," John slurred. "Shouldn't be kissing you in this state."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked fuzzily.

"Drunk," John said. "Consent. In the morning. When morning comes, we can talk."

John urged Sherlock to get into bed, and John pulled him into a hug. It almost seemed like... snuggling. Sherlock sighed in contentment and let himself relax. He loved John. This was okay. He'd have been okay with whatever John had wanted to do, but John had insisted that it wasn't right. So they would wait.

His head still spinning, Sherlock fell asleep with John wrapped around him.

***

Sherlock awoke to fingers tracing his spine, and he sighed in contentment. He was warm and comfortable, coccooned in happiness, waiting to emerge as something entirely different than he had been last night. 

"Sherlock," John said.

"Mmm?" Sherlock hummed in return.

He moved, and his head hurt, dehydration hitting him. He hadn't wanted to move before, and now he wanted to move even less. He knew he should drink some water, maybe take something for the pain in his head, but logic wasn't working at this moment.

"Ugh, why did we drink so much?" John asked, putting a hand to his head.

Sherlock's heart fell. Would John use being drunk as an excuse to not talk about what had happened last night? Then again, Sherlock could use it as an excuse not to talk about the scars. He didn't want to open that memory again, and dragging it up would probably trigger unfortunate reactions. He'd managed to pack it all away, but it was waiting there in the back of his mind.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John asked, tentatively touching his bare shoulder. 

"I'm fine, John," Sherlock said.

"I... Is this okay?" John asked. "I don't want to do anything you don't want."

"It's... it's okay," Sherlock replied, struggling with his feelings.

"Okay, good," John said. "I wasn't sure."

"It's fine," Sherlock reiterated, not wanting John to get out of the bed and leave Sherlock by himself.

"So, is this okay?" John asked, slowly putting an arm around Sherlock's waist.

"Yes," Sherlock said quickly, in case John got the wrong idea.

John pulled Sherlock's body tight against his own, and it was warm, and soft, and it made Sherlock relax all over. It was such a nice feeling, and he sighed and snuggled into it, crossing his arms overtop of John's to hold them in place.

"There's a lad," John murmured in his ear, and Sherlock blushed and hid his face in the pillow.

They lay there for a little while, simply breathing together, settling into each other's presence, soaking it up like plants unfurling for the sun. Then John began tracing patterns on his back. Sherlock made a valiant effort not to tense up, but John must have noticed the tightening of his shoulders, because he stopped.

"Will you tell me about these?" John asked.

"They happened a long time ago," Sherlock said quietly.

"You didn't have them... before," John said slowly. "Did you."

"Not... as such," Sherlock admitted.

"So they happened when you were gone," John said. "You never said."

"I didn't want anyone to know," Sherlock said. "It seemed so... personal."

"Not even me?" John said softly.

"Especially you, John," Sherlock said. "I didn't want you thinking I was weak."

"You're not weak, Sherlock," John said. "You know I've known soldiers that have been captured and tortured, and I didn't once think they were weak. Rather, you're stronger than you can even imagine."

"I'm not," Sherlock protested.

"Strong? I think you are," John said, and he tightened his arms around Sherlock's waist.

"You'd be the first, then," Sherlock muttered, but snuggled closer.

What was this? He wasn't sure, because they hadn't really talked, just sort of fallen into these actions as if they were perfectly natural. They were wrapped around one another, and Sherlock wasn't entirely certain how it had happened.

They lay there like that for a long time, not moving, simply existing, and Sherlock felt at peace. John didn't make any excuses or try to tell him that he wasn't gay, which is what Sherlock had been expecting from the moment he had woken up.

His head still hurt, but that was okay. He wasn't using it much at the moment.

He was still drowsing when John moved. At first, he thought that John had grown tired of snuggling and was going to go do something else, such as make tea, or breakfast. But he tugged at Sherlock's shoulders until Sherlock was lying prone on John's bed. Sherlock was momentarily confused, but then John kissed the back of his neck. Sherlock froze.

"Do you mind?" John asked, mouth hovering next to his ear.

"N-n-no," Sherlock said, taking a few tries to get the word out.

John kissed his neck again, and then between his shoulderblades. He kissed the curve of one shoulder and then the other. His mouth was warm and soft as he trailed it down one shoulderblade, and then down his spine. Sherlock couldn't handle the contact, burying his face in the pillow under his head to hide his furiously red face. 

But John tugged him over, revealing his blushes. At first, he tried to cover his face, but John pulled his hands down.

"John," Sherlock protested.

And John kissed him.

Right on his slightly open mouth, he kissed Sherlock, and Sherlock whined in the back of his throat and closed his eyes. His hands, still held in John's, curled around them, entwining their fingers. John kissed him and kissed him, first softly, then hard, like his life depended on it. Then he nibbled Sherlock's bottom lip, and that sent a cascade of sensation through him that he hadn't been expecting.

Sherlock had been kissed before, but never like this. Not as if stars were colliding and galaxies were being born, and his whole world perspective was shifting on its axis. He had thought that kissing Janine was all there was to it, but this was more than anything he'd ever experienced, shared with another human being.

They broke apart, panting hard. John hovered over him, because somehow in the act of kissing, Sherlock had ended up flat on his back on John's bed. He felt a thrum of energy rush through him. This wasn't over, not by a long shot.

"We should probably talk about this," John said, but his dilated eyes spoke a different story.

"You started this, John," Sherlock said, amused.

"I did, but we should pause. Time out of sorts," John replied.

Sherlock pouted, and John laughed, but he flopped over on his side next to Sherlock, no longer hovering over him, ready to pounce on him.

"I could kiss you for ages," John said, voice dazed.

"We could, if we would just get this dratted talking thing over with," Sherlock said.

"I... I like you," John said.

"In a _like_ like way?" Sherlock asked, rolling his eyes.

"It's more than that," John protested. "I have strong feelings for you that I am unable to articulate yet. Is that better?"

"Slightly," Sherlock replied. "Expand on that point, if you would."

"You know I'm not good at this type of thing, and I'm bound to talk myself around in circles," John said. "But I'll try. For you, I'll try. Okay. I've had strong feelings for you for a long time."

"You just divorced Mary," Sherlock pointed out.

"This is before Mary ever entered the picture," John said. "I've l-liked you since almost the very start, but I didn't always accept that that's what I was feeling. I was in denial."

"Go on," Sherlock said in what he imagined was a very supportive manner.

"I was in denial for a long time. It took a while to work through, these feelings," John continued. "I didn't know what to do, because it was a situation that hadn't really come up before for me. But I did sort them out, you know, eventually. I had it all figured out. I just needed to do something."

"And then I died," Sherlock said softly.

"And then you died," John said. "One of the reasons I was so angry with you was the regret I felt sort of curdled inside of me during the time you were gone. It was terrible, like I'd lost my one chance at happiness. And then, I met Mary, and she held me together in a way that I hadn't felt since I met you. It wasn't quite the same, but at the time, it felt pretty damn close."

"You were happy with Mary," Sherlock said. "What changed?"

"You came back, you berk," John said. "You came back, and suddenly, I had two people that I felt strongly about in my life. I couldn't keep you both, that's not how this works for me."

"So what happened then?" Sherlock asked, feeling on the edge of his seat.

"You know what happened," John said. "I divorced Mary and moved back to Baker Street. That's the whole of it."

"Oh," Sherlock said. 

He'd won, somehow. Out of the two of them, he'd won John Watson. It wasn't what he'd imagined, especially when he'd stood up at their wedding and given that speech.

"What about you?" John asked. "I spilled my guts."

"Do you even have to ask, John?" Sherlock said helplessly. "It's been frighteningly apparent for a long time now that I'd do anything for you. I died and came back for you – twice. I wouldn't do that for just anyone, you know."

"But you never said anything," John said. "The wedding –"

"I thought you were _happy_ , John. You were happy. I wouldn't have interfered with that, no matter what my feelings were on the matter. John, I... I – "

_I love you._

He couldn't say it out loud, not yet. This was still too fragile, a gossamer thread bond between them that had to be nurtured and grow before any declarations like that. 

"Sherlock, it's okay," John said, reaching over to stroke his cheek. 

"We're together now, though, aren't we, John?" Sherlock asked desperately in a sudden rush. "This isn't just some sort of experiment, or a one-time thing, is it?"

"You're the one who likes experiments, Sherlock," John chuckled and then said, "No, it's not an experiment. Sherlock, after all this time, we've finally talked about our feelings. I don't think anything can undo this, for me, at least."

"Can we go back to kissing now?" Sherlock asked hopefully.

In answer, John reached over, slid his hand into Sherlock's hair and pulled him into a kiss. He ran his hand down Sherlock's neck and over his shoulder. Sherlock pulled John against him, wishing that he could feel skin-on-skin. He needed to be closer – so much closer than this. He pulled John closer by the waist, could feel his body warm and firm against his own.

He was wearing too many clothes! They both were, actually, in spite of Sherlock's shirtlessness. Sherlock was still in his trousers and John was fully dressed, clothes from the night before that were sleep-rumpled and felt too tight around Sherlock now that he was lying down in bed with John Watson.

"Get this off," Sherlock said, going for the hem of John's jumper.

"Is this okay?" John asked, even as his jumper was flung off into some vacant corner of the room.

"Of course," Sherlock said, almost groaning in dismay that there was a vest underneath the jumper. Why did John have to dress in so many layers? 

"Right then," John said, struggling out of the vest without Sherlock's help.

They both shimmied out of their trousers at the same time, and once they were only in their pants, it seemed to Sherlock like they both suddenly became shy. John tentatively reached for Sherlock and pulled him close, chest to chest. They were so close now, and John's skin was sliding against his. It was more intimate, and sent more sensation through him.

John leaned over and kissed him, once, softly. 

"What now?" whispered Sherlock.

"Whatever you would like," John replied.

"I don't know," Sherlock said, feeling out of his depth. "I've never gotten to this point before."

"We don't have to do anything at all if you don't want, Sherlock," John assured him.

"I want to, I just don't know how to get there," Sherlock said, frustrated.

"It happens naturally," John said. "Here, kiss me again."

Sherlock did, and it was just as enjoyable as it had been all the other times. He hummed in pure happiness, and his arms went around John again. He ran his hand up John's back, half scientific curiosity, half desire for John's body. He had firm muscles, and the slope of his shoulders was a pleasing degree.

As if taking this as a cue, John began running his hands up and down Sherlock's body. Sherlock shivered a little from the contact and moaned against John's mouth. John's mouth parted, and he ran his tongue over Sherlock's bottom lip. Sherlock was too surprised to respond at first, but John did it a second time, making his intent clear.

 _Warm wet wonderful_. Sherlock lost himself in the slide of their mouths together, the gentle push and pull of it. It had a rhythm to it, one that his body somehow knew already, without any input from his thinking processors.

Without thinking, Sherlock lifted his leg and slid it up John's, wrapping it around his hip to pull him closer. He did it automatically, his body responding to impulse. 

It was only then that he realized he was aroused, as his cock bumped against John's hip. In shock, he broke the kiss, pushed John away by the shoulders, still feeling the warm throb his cock had made upon contact with John's body. It was disconcerting to be in this situation, one he'd only ever been in alone, with his own hand. He'd never before shared a private moment like this one.

"Okay?" asked John.

"Um," Sherlock said, feeling his cheeks turn red. "I..."

"It's okay," John said reassuringly. "Arousal is a perfectly natural response to our activities."

"I know that," Sherlock said tightly. "I'm just not used to it."

"Do you want to stop?" John asked.

But Sherlock didn't want to stop. In fact, his entire body seemed to be thrumming with the need to be in John's arms again. 

"No," he whispered.

He slowly uncurled and moved back towards John. John reached out to receive him, pulling him close. Sherlock scrunched his eyes shut in embarrassment as his cock pushed insistently against John's hip, but didn't pull away this time. John ran his hands down Sherlock's sides and nudged at the hem of Sherlock's pants.

"Off?" he asked huskily in Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock simply nodded once, forehead bumping against John's shoulder. John slid his pants down over his hips, and Sherlock helped by shimmying them down around his knees and kicking them off. John shucked his as well, and then they were naked. The intimacy of the feeling was exquisite, and it almost hurt, the feeling that pulsed through Sherlock's body.

"I want to touch you," John whispered.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Please."

John skimmed his hand down Sherlock's front, eliciting a shiver from Sherlock. His fingers speared through the curly hair at Sherlock's groin, and rested there for a moment. Sherlock whined, and John wrapped a warm, firm hand around his cock. Sherlock felt all the air rush out of him, and he gasped as John stroked him once in a long, slow pull.

"John..." he whined, grasping at John's shoulders. 

"Shh, it's okay," John said. "Just let go for me, Sherlock."

Sherlock bit his lip and then cried out again as John stroked him again, circling his thumb over the glans, pressing against his frenulum. It was pure sensation, and Sherlock lost himself in it, unable to do anything, even reciprocate, as John touched him.

He lasted an embarrassingly short time, his peak cresting suddenly and without notice. He shook as he came, feeling John's arms tighten around him, and he lay there dazed and spent. John's cock still nudged against his thigh, pulsing slightly with the contact.

"I'm a mess," Sherlock said. 

"We can tidy up in a while," John murmured. "Just enjoy this for a bit."

Sherlock did, loving the little aftershocks running through his spent body. John simply held him, not demanding anything from him.

After a while, Sherlock felt curiosity rising in him, and a desire to see John in the same state as he had been in. A desire that ached sharply as he considered it.

"Can I touch you back, John?" he asked in a low, slightly hoarse voice.

"Of course," John said, smiling at him unreservedly.

Sherlock wrapped one of his hands around John's cock, and John shuddered against him. His cock was hot to the touch, and thick. It was the kind of cock one saw in porn, not that Sherlock watched porn. Well, maybe once or twice. A week.

Sherlock examined John's cock with his hands, measuring it with the stroke of his palm, the curve of it fitting around the head, his thumb stroking up the underside. He stroked John slowly, until he decided that he'd catelogued enough with his hand. All the data he could collect with his hand had been achieved.

He needed to know how it tasted. Not just for data, he had an aching need to know. And so he went to find out, dipping his head down and licking a short stripe over the glans. John yelled in surprise. Sherlock found he quite liked the musky taste and licked again, more firmly. He grasped the base in one hand and carefully fit his mouth over John's cock, going down as far as he could before gagging. He couldn't deep-throat, like in porn, but it felt good to have his mouth so full.

"Sherlock!" John gasped. "That's amazing, where did you learn..."

Sherlock had learned nothing, he was simply doing what felt natural to him. But it was still gratifying to hear John's enjoyment of the act was at least equal to his own. He wriggled his tongue back and forth, experimenting. He pulled off to lick just at John's slit, then swallowed him down again.

His jaw began to ache, and he felt tears force their way past his eyelids. The tears weren't from happiness, or from sadness, but simply from the effort he was putting into the act of fellatio. He half-choked on John's cock, and he enjoyed it.

"Sherlock, I'm going to – "

Sherlock hadn't decided whether he was going to pull off or not when John spurted down his throat. He tasted more bitter than Sherlock had been expecting, but he accepted the offering nonetheless.

He licked his lips, and John panted beside him.

"Wow," John gasped. "I'm not entirely sure I'll be able to walk for a bit after that."

Sherlock took that as a compliment, and snuggled a bit smugly against John's sated form. John pulled Sherlock against him clumsily, arm still not working properly after the effects of orgasm. 

"That was brilliant," John said, and Sherlock blushed.

Huh. Who knew he would like it when John complimented his sexual skills.

"You're brilliant," John finished, looking at him with shining eyes.

Sherlock hid his face against John's chest to hide his face. John sighed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's back.

"So, we're together now, right?" Sherlock asked against John's skin, which tasted of sweat.

"We're together," John said. "As together as you want us to be."

"Forever," Sherlock said sleepily.

John smiled against his hair and said, "I can work with that."

Morning came at Baker Street, and it was brand new, and amazing, and just about perfect.


End file.
